Chapter 629 Udah And Mora

Jinling City was filled with chimera.

At the end of the three-day war, Munch's coffin was carried out of Changle Palace in the early morning.

The dragon carriage opened the way, and the emperor carried the coffin

Not to mention the Chen Kingdom, no duke had encountered such a disparity since ancient times.

The streets of Jinling City were filled with people who had come to see them off. One of the Crown Prince's expression was solemn as he bowed respectfully. There was a woman with a worried expression, hanging her head to cry; Some of the young children were watching, but although they didn't know why, they were infected by this scene and didn't dare to play around.

Following which, the mournful music was played and the salute officer shouted loudly.

"Soul Return, Soul Return!"

The people on both sides bowed in admiration and sang in a mournful tone, "Soul Returns, Soul Returns!"

This voice was continuous, entrenched on the top of Jinling City for a long time without stopping.

In the crowd, a black-clothed man with a long sword on his back looked at the coffin slowly moving forward with a gloomy expression. His gaze suddenly fell on the white-haired emperor who lowered his head and lifted the coffin.

At that moment, Ling Lie's killing intent gushed out of the man's body uncontrollably. The veins on his forehead burst out, and his eyes instantly turned blood red.

His hand slowly reached out and was about to press down on the hilt of the sword on his back.

But at this moment, an old hand stretched out from behind him and grabbed the hand that he was about to grab onto the hilt of the sword.

The man was stunned. He turned his head and saw a white-haired old man standing behind him.

"Master!" He exclaimed in surprise.

The old man took a deep look at him and said, "Follow me back to Mount Li."

After saying that, the old man ignored the struggle of the man and pulled his clothes. The two of them disappeared from the streets of Jinling City at that time.

The white-haired emperor, who was not far away, seemed to have sensed something. He raised his eyebrows slightly, but in the next moment, he returned to his original state. He chanted along with the crowd, "Soul Returns, Soul Returns!"

His tone was filled with grief, just like everyone else in the city.

…

At the peak of Mount Li, inside the Imperial Spirit Mansion.

The white-haired old man and Meng Liang sat opposite each other on the short couch.

"Master, why are you stopping me?" Meng Liang stared at the old man and asked in a low voice that had never appeared to the old man before.

"Can you handle it?" The old man blew on the warm water in the teacup, neither salty nor faint, neither anxious nor slow.

"The enmity of killing my father is unsworn. Even if I can't beat him, I still have to fight!" Meng Liang's hand that was holding the teacup trembled slightly. He had to use all of his strength to restrain himself before he could guarantee that the cup that the old man had always cherished would not be crushed.

The old man didn't seem to be able to feel the fury in Meng Liang's heart at this moment. He lowered his head and said, "Then you're courting death?"

Meng Liang frowned. He did not like the old man to stop him from avenging his father, nor did he like the way he looked down on this former disciple of Mount Li. "Master, I have also achieved some success in cultivating in the Mausoleum of the Swords these past few days. If I risk my life, I will not taste it …"

However, before he could finish his argument, the old man raised his head to look at him again and asked, "Have you cultivated into an immortal yet?"

Meng Liang was speechless for a moment. He shook his head, and his aura weakened a bit. "I'm still a little short."

"A little short?" The old man asked again, but his eyes suddenly narrowed.

Most likely due to guilt, Meng Liang's momentum weakened a little. "Just now, at the middle Great Evolution Realm…"

However, he quickly regained his composure and said loudly, "So what? I have the Vicious Sword Evil Dragon. Could Chen Xuanji still be an immortal?"

The last word "Cheng" was trapped in Meng Liang's throat, and he could no longer spit it out. As he said this, the old man opposite him nodded his head silently.

Meng Liang was shocked, but he was also not someone who was afraid of death. He was just about to say something.

"Chen Xuanji is a genius. Whether it is swordsmanship or intelligence, he deserves to be addressed as such. Your father chose him, and only he can shoulder this heavy responsibility." The old man seemed to have seen through Meng Liang's thoughts as he spoke again.

"What do you mean?" Meng Liang was somewhat confused.

When the old man heard this, he took out a letter from his bosom and handed it to Meng Liang. He said, "Your father told me to give it to you."

"Huh?" Meng Liang took the letter and slowly opened it in his hand with confusion.

As he read the contents of the letter, his expression gradually turned ugly, and in the end, this ugliness turned into an indescribable anger that he firmly suppressed. His eyes turned bloody red, and his hand holding the letter trembled uncontrollably.

The indifferent expression on the old man's face dissipated at that moment. He walked to Meng Liang's side and gently pressed his hand on his shoulder. He said, "Go back to the Sword Mausoleum, there's big trouble there."

…

In the hearts of the barbarians who were born and died in the Southern Wilderness, the people in the Mausoleum of Swords were the gods of heaven.

In the legends passed down from generation to generation, it was the gods in the Mausoleum of the Swords who taught them how to hunt. Only then did they have something to eat and taught them how to light a fire. Only then would they be able to spend a long and cold night after night.

The Southern Barbarians' tribes had been at war for many years. It was not uncommon for the royal court to change its name. However, no matter who sat in the royal court, before the end of autumn, the head of the royal court would bring his wife and children to the sword mausoleum and send rich tributes to thank the gods for their protection.

This year is no exception.

The newly promoted Lord of the Royal Court was a sturdy man over nine feet tall. According to legend, his strength was boundless, but he tore apart the tiger and leopard with his bare hands. The previous Lord of the Royal Court had died in his hands just like that. The barbarian royalty had always been like this. Of course, this had not changed in the Central Plains. However, the former placed it on the surface, while the latter preferred to give him a grand reason.

The Lord of the Royal Court was called "Wuda" by the barbarians. In the simple and deficient Barbarian language system, Wuda was the meaning of the Second Heaven.

In the Mausoleum of the Swords, the divine being was called "Mo La", which was the meaning of the 1st Heavenly Layer.

The new Wu Da brought his entire family and nearly a hundred Royal Court warriors to the Sword Mausoleum.

Wu Da was very grateful to Mo La in the Mausoleum of the Swords. He believed that he could defeat the previous Mo La because of Mo La's protection. For this reason, he prepared three fat sheep, a cow, and more than ten pheasants.

However, when they arrived at the Sword Mausoleum Gate, Mora had already stood there, waiting for them.

This was the first time Wu Da had seen Mora. He was a little excited and looked at her with dissatisfaction. It was an old man who looked very old. He was thin and weak. If he were in the tribe, such an old man would probably not be able to survive. The Southern Wilderness was barren. If a tribe wanted to survive in this place, they had to follow some cruel logic.

Everyone in the tribe had to show their role, be it hunting, reproduction or grazing. Once it was useless, that person would be abandoned by the tribe and walk into the Southern Wilderness alone, dying alone.

However, Wu Da did not show any contempt for Mo La's image. In fact, there was a rumor about the Sword Mausoleum Immortal.

More than one Mora, However, only one white-haired Mura was a true Mura. The rest of the Muras were his incarnations. He could be a youth, a beautiful woman, or anyone. Every time Uda worshiped Mura, he could see all kinds of Muras. However, only Uda, who was truly blessed by Mura, could see Mura's true body. That was the white-haired old man.

When Wu Da thought of this, he couldn't help but feel a little excited.

The troop knelt down in front of Mora and shouted piously in Barbarian, "Long live Mora."

Then, according to the usual practice, Uda brought his team forward and placed the carefully prepared tribute in front of Mura. After that, Uda, who was kneeling on the ground, carefully raised his head and peeked at Mura, wanting to see if Mura was satisfied with the tribute he had prepared from Mura's face.

He was pleasantly surprised to discover that after Mura's gaze swept through his tribute, a smile really appeared on his aged face. Of course, with Udah's unremarkable intelligence, he couldn't tell the difference between a bitter smile and a smile.

He began to look forward to Mura talking to him. This was a rare privilege for Udah. Many times, Mura would leave after receiving the tribute. However, a very small number of Udah could get Mura's favor and say something to them.

Probably because he couldn't forget that there would definitely be an echo.

After Mura finished looking at the tributes, he suddenly looked up at Udah. At that time, his mouth really slowly opened.

At that time, Uda's heart was raised to his throat. He stared at Mora, waiting for the divine oracle of the immortal population.

"From next year onwards, there will be no need to deliver anything." Mora said in barbaric language.

The simple words fell into Uda's ears. Uda, who was secretly feeling complacent about his luck, almost fell to the ground at this moment as if the world had collapsed.

After a while, he finally regained his senses. He looked at Mura in panic and confusion. He explained in Barbarian, "Honorable Mura, if it's a tribute that makes you dissatisfied, I can return to the tribe to prepare a richer tribute for you. Please don't abandon me."

The old man shook his head and replied in barbaric language, "No need, there will be no more sword mausoleums in this world soon."

In Uda's heart, Mola was naturally omnipotent. Such an existence naturally did not have the concept of death, and Uda's understanding of the old man's words inevitably turned into the thought that Mola was about to leave the world.

His mind was in a state of chaos. The troop leading the tribute bowed to the old man repeatedly and said something with a wuwu sound. The meaning was to pray for Mola not to leave and continue to protect the Southern Wilderness.

The old man smiled bitterly and shook his head. In the end, he put away his thoughts of telling these barbarians in detail. It wasn't that he wasn't unwilling, but this kind of thing was too complicated for these barbarians.

He simply turned around and walked into the Mausoleum of the Sword.

Wu Da watched the old man leave, and their retention gradually turned into a mournful cry.

The old man listened to the voice coming from the side of his ear. For some reason, he felt a little melancholy in his heart. He sighed, but he still took another step forward.

At that time, the barbarians heard Mora's song again. It was a sacred song passed down from generation to generation by the barbarians. It was passed down from generation to generation in a language they did not understand.

There was a grave in the Southern Wilderness.

No guests are buried.

No burial, no return.

There was someone in the tomb.

Keep watch over the thousands of blades.

Keep it until eternity.

The sun rises and the sand sinks.

The bright moon came, and the rivers rolled.

He's waiting. He's waiting.

The nine petals of the lotus blossomed, and the immortal fell to the mortal world…

At the end of the song, Mora sighed.

"Sigh… I can't see that day after all…"

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